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Updated: April 30, 2025
"Arrah, now, look at the holy man. He puts on his hat widout a wurrud, whin he could strike the man dead wid jist sayin' a curse. 'Tis a good saint he is, to go wid the police, whin if he sthretched out his hand he could wither thim up, an' bur-rn thim like sthraws in the blazin' turf!" These people have votes, and to a man support the Nationalist party.
Mark Hanna rings f'r his sicrety an', says he: 'Have ye got off th' letther fr'm George Fred Willums advisin' Aggynaldoo to pizen th' wells? 'Yes sir. 'An' th' secret communication fr'm Bryan found on an arnychist at Pattherson askin' him to blow up th' White House? 'It's in th' hands iv th' tyepwriter. 'Thin call up an employmint agency an' have a dillygation iv Jesuites dhrop in at Lincoln, with a message fr'm th' pope proposin' to bur-rn all Protestant churches th' night befure iliction."
D'ye mind, Jawn, that th' r-rale estate business includes near ivrything fr'm vagrancy to manslaughter? "Whativer it was he done, he had money to bur-rn; an' th' little soggarth that wanst despised him, but had a hard time payin' th' debt iv th' church, was glad enough to sit at his table. Wan day without th' wink iv th' eye he moved up in th' avnoo, an' no wan seen him in Bridgeport afther that.
'Give me a dhrop iv whisky, he says, 'f'r I'm inthrested in Distillers, he says, 'an' I'd like to give it a shove, he says. 'How's Gas? he says. 'A little weak, to-day," says I. "Twill be sthronger, he says. 'If it ain't, says I, 'I'll take out th' meter an' connect th' pipe with th' ventilator. I might as well bur-rn th' wind free as buy it," I says.
Shure there's no sinse at all, at all, in workin' life out to kape life in. "Ah, no," said Misther Fahy. "That tobacky has no strinth in it. We get no satisfaction out iv it. We shmoked a pipe iv it to make frinds, but we'd not shmoke another. 'Tis like chopped hay or tay-leaves, it is. Will we walk back wid yer honner's glory? 'Tis only four miles, it is. No, we bur-rn no powdher here.
Dorgan comin' in an' quitein' th' ol' man with a chair that hostilities was averted as th' pa-apers says right there an' thin. "Well, sir, will ye believe me, whin Dorgan wint over with th' mimbers iv' th' union that night f'r to bur-rn something, there was me brave Hughey thrampin' up an' down like a polisman on bate.
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